“Thank you, young man.”
When I think of Lee Corso, my friends don't respect “not that fast” and that's not the first thing I think of. On the contrary, that is the first sentence. Because these are the first words I heard from the coach. OK, the first one I heard in person.
By Saturday, October 1, 1994, he told me that I had heard him say a lot, but always through the TV spokesperson. I've watched it on ESPN for seven years. On September 5, 1987, when “College Racing” debuted, I was a high school student living in a college revelry house in Greenville, South Carolina. My dad is an ACC football official and my role in the house is to wake up Saturday morning and make sure that the day VCR rolls in Dad’s game so that he can break down the movie when we get home from church on Sunday.
Then, I wondered what did appear in the eyes, but a new ESPN studio show previewed the entire college football game of the day, including pop music that might be with his whistle. It was called “College Gameday” and that night in the same studio, the crew returned to all these highlights of these games. It was hosted by Tim Brando, and what we know from “SportsCenter” is the analysis provided by Beano Cook, the University of Humanities rugby computer,…Wasn't he coaching the Orlando Traitors on the dying days of the USFL?
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Brando tells the story of Corso's ESPN audition, how the 52-year-old looked at his possible broadcast partner and said, “Dear, I'm here. This show will be the trigger for your career and career.”
That vehicle moved to the drive and stayed there, even though the “college racing” was parked in Bristol, Connecticut. Eventually Brando continued to move forward, with Wunderkind Chris Fowler taking over as host. They joined them with former running Craig James, who was nicknamed the Pony Patriot for his post at SMU and his NFL in New England. But this wasn't what the coach called him. He called James “Bronco Breathing.”
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That was the “Horse Racing Day” lineup I spent hungrily while I was in Knoxville, Tennessee. My roommate and I were sleepy on Saturday morning to see if Corso chose our Vols to win, then tripped over the dorm door to grab the cheeseburger and headed to the student area at Neyland Stadium. If he says Tennessee is going to win, we declare him a genius. If he said Walls would lose, we would scream, “What the hell do you know?! You only lasted a year in northern Illinois!” That night, the pizza was holding the pizza and we would watch him in the scoreboard show and yelled on TV again. It's either “Sit, coach!” or “Hey, coach, not that fast, my friend!”
It was the autumn of the early 1990s. As the coach expected, “college horse racing” was indeed a trigger. He really became the face of sports that he loved very much. At home, we can feel love because we recognize it. We also love college football. Whether Koso chose your team or not, his passion for the sport is undisputed. This creates a connection. Just like seeing the same friend every Saturday, those season tickets are always those friends next to you. Or stop by you all the time, serving beer and ribs. Or, the guy you happen to meet is all watching college football games at Saturday’s sports bar. Everyone.
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Lee Corso has always been the real article in a business full of fakes. Lee Corso has always been fun in a world full of terrible things. It's so irresistible at one time, but it's also bigger than life.
So now, imagine my entire glass moment when I first heard him talking to me. Saturday, October 1994. I am an entry-level ESPN production assistant and I’m only a year away from my dorm in Tennessee. I've only been five years in a bowl of cereals in our Greenville family room, tagging my dad with VHS tapes as my dad watched Corso break down what he thought might have happened in the dad's game.
“Thank you, young man.”
My task that day was that cutting and scripting were the highlights of my alma mater, as Vols hosted 19 Washington State. The headlines were a long touchdown score by Nilo Silvan on a reverse court of a kid named Peyton Manning. But the quiet drama that really handed Walls was the fourth switch in the early fourth quarter, when the 1-yard Manning Run won only the first inning on Tennessee territory. This established a shot that ended up blocking the game with a 10-9 victory.
At that time, each ESPN highlight was produced in a converted basement room, stuffed with tape drives and filled with 20-something noise like me, crawling down the editorial room lined with what we call “screening.” When you finish the tape for a minute and apply a handwritten script, you run out of that editing room and walk to the hallway of the tape and TV studio to provide everything.
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The door to our editorial suite opened when we were about to pop up my Tennessee-Wazzu videotape for delivery dash. It's Lee Corso. Without knowing it, he kept watching through the windows at the drama we contained in the highlights. He didn't say a word, pointing at my script – called “Shooting Table” – and motioning me to hand it over to him. He read it, flipped it over, so it faced me, tapped the box with his fingers, describing the fourth quarter conversion of absolutely non-sexual behavior.
“Thank you, young man.”
Then he continued.
“I came here to make sure you play this game there. That's how the game is played. If we haven't played this one in this highlight, then I look like a dummy. And I don't need any help in that department, right?”
He squeezed my editor's shoulders, the guy with mechanical wheels.
“I thank you too.”
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Then he walked into the angry show racket and yelled through the scent of sweat and pizza, “How are we, troops!”
Someone shouted, “How about the coach in Nebraska?” reminding you that this is the first year of “college horse racing.” They went out once in 1993 as a test. Everything went well, so they were out six times in 1994. Just two weeks ago, they went to Lincoln on the show’s third road trip.
He replied: “A lot of corn and big corn feeders!”
Another shouted: “You're happy to go to Miami, Florida next week, coach?”
“We hope it's better than I've played there!” A reminder that Florida defensive backs called them “Sunshine Scooters,” he has held a career interception (14) record for decades, a career 0-2 against the Miami Hurricanes.
He said it again before the coach stepped into the hall to the studio. This time I went to the entire child's room and tried desperately to find my way in the TV sports business.
“I thank you very much!”
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That was more than thirty years ago. Whenever I think back to this story, everyone who comes back in that screening room responds to me. The first time I went out with the “university” in the mid-1990s. And the people who performed there today.
In many cases, it is the same person. Jim Gaiero, the current producer of “GameDay”, is also declining in the screening of the day. Produced an incredible “Not So Fast Group, My Friends” ESPN documentary is led by a handful of Emmy-winning feature producers who are also stuck and are also subject to many “appreciating you” recipients.
It is impossible to measure the impact of a person like Corso, his athletic appearance, spent in encouraging, mentoring and being a coach. That's not universal. But neither is he.
On the morning of the 2024 Rose Bowl, the college football playoff semifinal between Alabama and Michigan, I was sitting with my coach before he headed to the game “Gameday.” I shared this story with him since 1994 and told him how much it always means to me. He replied: “It's great to win the game. But any real coach will tell you that this is not the best part of the job. It's looking at the kids you're coaching and seeing them grow up as adults, have great jobs and raise great families. That's why it's done.”
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Lee Corso spends every Saturday around the people he coaches. That's why it's already and is hard to say goodbye. That's why there's no chance of ice shooting in Phoenix, Corso quits the show after suffering a stroke. That's why he's still the show in 2020, when Covid-19 left him stranded at his Florida home in Florida as the rest of the crew returned on the road. That's why he's been at the show since he was born, even though it has grown from a few guys in the studio to dozens of fans behind the stage of the rock concert circus caravan today. When the coach attended the first audition 38 years ago, the coach thought it might be what it might be.
like. This is why.
You see it in the eyes of the people who perform. They look for his way. They still hang on every word he says the way. When we watch Kirk Herbstreit, we all see it very publicly. It's hard to remember when we see Herbie, the four politicians in the current sport, but when he first joined “College Racing” in 1996, he just turned 27, less than four years from Ohio State. When Kirk releases those early Saturday morning videos from those early Saturday mornings, the coach shares a story, or when the coach tries to pull up the prank or coach as he tries to figure out how to navigate an overly complex escalator, we all feel. As we believe, the first countdown to the first “university racing car” was from September 5, 1987.
Not so fast? It's passing too fast. But it's a friend.
Thank you, coach.